Forgive and Forget.
by dropdeadred
Summary: Did you hate "Unforgettable"? So did I.... J/C


**Forgive and Forget....? **

DISCLAIMER : Paramount et al own all but the plotline (you can sue for my overdraft if you like). 

RATED : PG13 

SUMMARY : "Unforgettable" was precisely that for me, but because I hated it. And I hate it even more now it spawned this monstrosity.... 

Chakotay stood outside Kathryn's door, torn. He was weary of this, of coming to this point, of the self-disgust and the guilt. It was a cycle, he knew, but one governed by such violent emotions, such cataclysmic extremes of love and hate, that it was hard for him to find the balance, a sane objective take. And it was hardly something he could talk to anybody about. Not that he had anybody to talk about it to. No, anybody he had been close to he had somewhere along the twelve long years either alienated or neglected, or both. There was only Kathryn, and he wondered that he still had her. He hated this part, but he knew that in a few hours he would be asleep, his head cradled in her lap. She would comfort him over his loss, and he would try hard not to see the new lines on her face, borne of his insensitivity and idiocy. Then he would crawl to her and she would cry, and he would hate himself for what he had done to her. Hate that he had once again plunged the knife in, had gone elsewhere for what she gave so much more sweetly; hate that she loved him so much that she would whore her principles and allow him back in again, again.

He leaned on the chimes and heard her call him in. Her voice was deep and throaty - had she been crying? Chakotay's gut twisted with the guilt. She knew why he was here already. He came to her for understanding every time, asked her to comprehend what he himself could not - why he did it. And he didn't understand, not one little bit, and so his own insurmountable confusion was added to the gamut of self-hating and nauseous horror that he felt. She was sitting on the couch, knees drawn up to her chin, still in uniform. The room was darkened but he could see her, luminous in the dusky interior, and she looked small. 

"Hi." 

"Hi." She didn't look at him. And he didn't want her to. Didn't want to look into those deep pale eyes and see only shadows. Where once he had seen an affirmation of his own worth, he now saw no recognition; as if all he was was that which she reflected for him, and now she no longer saw it. He sat down beside her and stared into space with her. He felt the tears stinging his eyes and reached blindly for her hand. It was ice cold. 

"Kathryn, you're -" his voice was thick with his unshed tears. "You're freezing!" 

"Yes I am, I'm cold Chakotay." 

He jumped up and found a blanket to wrap around her. 

"Are you ok?" 

She just sighed. Chakotay blanched and looked away. She looked... well... she looked broken. His head began to spin and he felt darkness rising all around him, until only a pinprick of light could be seen high above. The urge to bellow and cry was surmounted by his stupefied silence, his shame, and his fear that what he had done to her was irreversible. Who was he? What kind of person did this to someone they loved. And he did love her,_ so much_, which was why he lacked the ability to comprehend his dalliances with all those exotic women. They had all been unfit to hold candle to her. No nobility, no grace, none of that nameless beauty that came from within as well as without. He drew in a sobbing breath and his vision began to clear. He held tight to her small, cold hand and tried to search up the words. words that he hadn't offered before, meant even as he broke them. 

"Kathryn, I wish I could -" 

"Don't Chakotay." Her voice was surprisingly clear. "Wish you could turn back time? Wish it never happened? Well I have a few wishes of my own. Did you ever think of that? Did you ever think of me?" 

He knew what she was saying, but how could he answer? Would it matter that the guilt nullified every second in anybody else's arms? Probably not. 

"Of course I think of you," he said quietly, accepting. 

"And do you -" she hesitated. "Do you love me?" 

"Oh Kathryn how could you ever doubt that -" he had looked up and was stopped as she turned her ice-blue eyes on him. 

"You're asking me how I could doubt you?!" He sighed and shook his head. _But he did love her._ "So why Chakotay? Why? Why again?!" Her voice was controlled as she stood and began pacing before him, her unsettled actions in direct antithesis to her tone of voice. 

"I don't know." 

Her pacing was abruptly stopped as she lunged for him, bent, and looked straight into his eyes, yelling, 

"Wrong answer!" her voice broke and tears sprang up in her eyes. She convulsed with silent sobs and Chakotay felt helpless as he reached for her, and she allowed him to draw her down into his arms. Feeling her shake, trying not cry, he was unable to stem how own tears, and he buried his face in her hair. If he could pour out his truth through his tears, he would gladly have cried all night. 

"I'm sorry, I'm sorry," he muttered between the tears and the cries. If only she would stop crying, he might be able to too, but with every heave that wracked her slight frame he was unceremoniously reminded that he had done this, he had reduced her to this pathetic state. He had thought of their love as a positive force, but all he had done was find her one weakness and make her miserable. He knew this, was conscious of it, as did she, and yet here they were again.

Later that night, when her cries had subsided and he had quieted, he lay with his head in her lap and listened to her breathing. It was regular and deep and it soothed him. The raw emotions of the day had left him exhausted...

***

Kathryn concentrated on her breathing, counting to three on the inhale before she would allow herself a controlled breath out. If she could just keep control for the next twenty breaths, she told herself, everything would be alright. She felt Chakotay's head grow heavy in her lap and gently slid out from under him. Casting one glance back to make sure she hadn't woke him she crossed to the viewport and sank down onto the curved ledge. Her efforts at control failed as the misery welled up inside her forcing its way out. Her face cracked, contorted, and she began to cry again. Not wanting to wake the sleeper she went to her bedroom and lay on the bed. She toyed with the idea of calling up a hypo of the sedative the doctor had programmed into the replicator for her, for nights like this. Dimly, she noticed she had stopped crying, but the feeling that had settled in place wasn't much better. She asked Chakotay, why? why? - she may as well ask herself the same question. Why hadn't she just kicked him out when things started to go their usual way? When she could feel the rent in her already broken heart being prised apart once again? It was that lost look. That look of utter panic that she had to try to smooth. And it got her every time, over-riding the sickening mix of panic at momentarily losing him, and the self-deprecating pleasure at him having returned once again. Every time. At first she didn't understand, but now she thought she was beginning to. And perhaps ignorance was bliss. He really didn't know why he went to those women, the though made her pale and sicken, he honestly and truly didn't. Not that that made it right, or ok in any way, but there was something about his desperation and the way he needed her more than ever at these times that rendered her unable to turn him away. And she was afraid, too, of being without him, a silly, wildly irrational, yet immobilising fear. She could face down the most formidable forces, but he was the one who finally managed to make a fool of Kathryn Janeway. He wanted and loved her, of that she was certain, it's just that he was not. Kathryn rolled her eyes and sighed, running her hand through her hair. Who was she? How had she let love be the one thing to undermine her? How long would it take for him to figure it out for himself? It wouldn't be much longer, she was sure... and she hoped, and she prayed that it wouldn't be much longer.

***

Chakotay awoke with a start. She was gone. Lifting his head he saw the light coming from her sleeping quarters, and rose to go to her. She was lying flat out on the bed, heavily asleep. Dries tears streaked her now calm face, and her left hand held limply onto a spent hypospray. The scene saddened him. She hadn't even managed to undress - she must have given herself the whole dose. He prised the instrument from her hand and rolled her gently so he could cover her a little. She shivered as the sedative slowed her metabolism, and Chakotay pulled her to him as he lay next to her, trying to infuse her with warmth. Why hadn't she kicked him out? Every time he expected it. But she never did. He hated himself for driving her to this, he felt her limp in his arms, drugged. He had no faith in himself any more, but he clung to the faith she still had in him. For she must have, or she would not be here right now. But did that faith have its limits? She had been different tonight, more withdrawn somehow, and he felt chill with an unspoken fear. He was treading on quicksand this time. He touched the dried tears on her face, and hoped... prayed that he could figure it out before she woke.

_~FIN~ _

Please [let me know][1] what you thought!

   [1]: MAILTO:captainkate@geocities.com



End file.
